


as the world comes back wet and beautiful

by bloodscout



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Autistic Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist, Established Relationship, Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist With a Cane, M/M, Multiple Orgasms, Oral Sex, POV Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn with Feelings, Rimming, Timeline What Timeline, Trans Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist, Trans Male Character, Vaginal Sex, autistic author
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-19
Updated: 2020-05-19
Packaged: 2021-03-02 18:34:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,728
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24261415
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bloodscout/pseuds/bloodscout
Summary: And this was one of many blessings Jon found in his life — Martin was, and always had been, astoundingly observant when it came to people. Though Jon knew him to have a great number of skills at his disposal, the most useful — and most perplexing — was Martin’s ability to watch, and then to understand those around him. The result was that Martin often knew what Jon wanted or needed well before Jon did, whether he realised it at all.
Relationships: Martin Blackwood/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist
Comments: 19
Kudos: 226





	as the world comes back wet and beautiful

**Author's Note:**

> title from forty years by mary oliver
> 
> disclaimers:  
> 1a. words used for jon’s junk in this fic are clit, cunt, hole. i am trans (but no longer identifying as transmasc) and these are the words i’ve seen most in fic written by transmasc people  
> 1b. i am autistic and the way i’ve written jon’s autism is HEAVILY based on my own experiences, but is not intended to represent all autistic people etc etc  
> 1c. i’m a disabled and i say cripple jon rights  
> 2\. i fucked with how jon’s beholding compulsions work somewhat, because this idea caught me and i wanted to Make It Work  
> 3\. i used too many cliches but like, whatever, this is not my creative writing course. you are here for the sex not to grade me

Simply put, Jonathan Sims was not very good at having a body. Sure, he was adept at metonymically having certain _aspects_ of a body, usually understood how to have a mouth and skin hands and, well, eyes. But when it came to understanding that body as a whole, he felt more like a knotted mass of electrical wires than a man. The right hand knows not when the left hand shakes with a burning hot wax monster, and suchlike.

This is to say, Jon struggled to understand the signals his body sent him, the signs that it needed something coming across like code — and these days, even more complex than that. This was not a new trait, either, not something that came with the audible capitals of being The Archivist. Neither was it that Jon ignored his body in favour of other tasks, though he displayed remarkable insight into almost any pursuit other than the basic upkeep of his human form. This had been with Jon for as long as he could remember. As a child, he would not realise he was shivering against the bone deep chill of an English winter until a supervising adult wrapped him in a blanket or heavy coat. He had phone alarms to remind him to untangle himself from whatever knot of limbs he had just decided was comfortable a few hours ago. Martin’s frequent cups of tea quickly shifted from besotted acts of service to a regular necessity to prevent his boss dying of thirst.

And this was one of many blessings Jon found in his life — Martin was, and always had been, astoundingly observant when it came to people. Though Jon knew him to have a great number of skills at his disposal, the most useful — and most perplexing — was Martin’s ability to watch, and then to _understand_ those around him. The result was that Martin often knew what Jon wanted or needed well before Jon did, whether he realised it at all.

Suffice it to say, Martin noticed that Jon had been paying a lot more attention to Martin’s arse than was usual. Martin would pass Jon’s desk on his way to the kitchen and, almost reflexively, Jon’s arm would reach out to brush the seat of Martin’s jeans as he walked by. Martin didn’t object to the attention, of course. Far from it! Jon’s gentle reverence of his body was startling at first, but now it just fed a warm glow of self-confidence that Martin could call on as needed. And perhaps Martin let things go on than he usually would, but he was only human. Being watched by Jon was addictive, whether Jon knew he was doing it or not.

It was when Jon had crowded Martin up against the front door of their place after their post-dinner walk, unceremoniously dropping his cane to the floor instead of placing it in the umbrella stand, that Martin decided he had to say something. Jon had spent the entire walk seemingly unaware that his hand was jammed into Martin’s back pocket, and was currently grabbing Martin’s arse and thighs like they were his only anchor to land. Even though Jon most likely didn’t realise what he was aching for, Martin couldn’t imagine that it was comfortable. When Jon swiped a tongue over Martin’s lip, breaths short and fast after less than a minute of kissing, Martin couldn’t hold back the laugh.

Jon, his ego as prone to bruising as an overripe peach, made an affronted noise and pulled back.

“Something funny, Mr. Blackwood?” He was using the tone that Tim called his “boss voice”, the one he used when he was trying to fool Martin into thinking he was in control of the situation. It just made Martin laugh harder.

Instead of loosening his grip and pulling away, Jon dragged Martin forward by the hips. For anyone else, it would be the least subtle way to indicate that he wanted Martin to shut up and fuck him, but it only confirmed Martin’s suspicion that Jon wasn’t going to work this out without help.

“Jon,” Martin said, his voice cracking on the syllable despite his best effort. He wasn’t made of stone, okay? He was more than a little affected, but at least he knew what by. “Do you know how horny you are right now?”

Jon scoffed, standing on his toes to try and capture Martin’s mouth again. “How horny _I_ am?” He palmed Martin’s arse which, okay, he would admit, was _very_ nice. “I don’t think you’re one to talk.”

“Jon, you know that _you_ squeezing _my_ arse doesn’t actually disprove my point?”

The (infallible) logic seemed to pull Jon out of his haze, and he looked at Martin with clearer eyes. “No, I suppose it doesn’t.”

Before Jon got lost in his introspection, which wouldn’t be enjoyable for either of them, Martin pulled Jon up for another kiss. “Do you want to do anything about it?”

The bright flush of Jon’s cheeks and his unwavering focus on Martin’s freshly bitten lips suggested that he would much rather be kissing than talking, for a great number of reasons. He nodded though, the movement somewhat frantic.

“Very much.” He admitted.

Martin smiled down at his boyfriend, gap teeth on full view. “You have to let me go if you want to get to the bedroom, you know.”

Jon pressed Martin against the door once more, stealing a quick, hungry kiss, before peeling himself away fully. Martin’s chest felt cold at the sudden absence.

Always utilitarian in his undressing, Jon kicked his shoes off as he walked, pulling his shirt over his head and throwing it in the vague direction of the laundry. On one of the few occasions that they had done this before, Martin commented on the similarity to the trashy romcoms Sasha made them watch under the guise of team bonding. Jon had protested, saying that the point was for the clothes to come off, and he was just being efficient, but maybe he started throwing his clothes a little further afield than he would have otherwise.

He was down to his boxers by the time Martin reached the door, arms full with Jon’s discarded clothes that he dumped into the hamper. Jon must have missed the laundry by a bit, then.

Martin caught his jaw lightly, just the press of his fingers under his chin, and Jon went willingly into the kiss. Martin liked to start like this, he had realised, wanted those first gentle touches as they relearned the topography of each other’s bodies. He felt Martin’s attention envelope him like sea spray on a warm day, dancing across his skin.When Martin’s hands skimmed Jon’s bare sides, his fingers caught in the pockmarked skin, but didn’t linger.

When Martin reached Jon’s thighs, Jon knew to wrap his arms around Martin’s neck and allow himself to be carried the few steps to the bed. Martin liked this too, he knew, wanted to remind Jon of his strength, that he could protect him if he needed. For Jon, it was the moment of weightlessness that he relished. For those few seconds, his body disappeared, and it was just him and Martin, together.

His breath rushed out of him as Martin threw him onto the mattress, mischievous grin lighting up his features. Jon immediately beckoned Martin towards him with the very dignified gesture of lifting his arms up and making grabby hands. Martin obliged, and laid his body over Jon’s, bracketing Jon’s head with his forearms. Martin’s forearms were a particular favourite of Jon’s. They were always exposed, as if Martin had some kind of moral objection to covering any skin below his elbows. The muscles belied a strength and a practically that Jon could never copy. Martin could chop wood, Jon often reminded himself. He’d seen it with his own eyes — every one of them. He’d watched Martin twin the axe just above his shoulder, somehow landing on the exact seam of the log. There was no need to mention, of course, the way Martin’s forearms looked when he had three fingers thrust deep into Jon’s cunt. The thought made Jon’s scalp tingle.

“What’s the game plan, Jon?” Martin asked, that damned smirk reappearing.

“It’s _sex_ , Martin.” Jon snarked, as if Martin had forgotten why they were here. “It doesn’t need a game plan, you just _do_ it.”

Martin laughed at that, throwing his head up so Martin could see the freckled expanse of his throat. He pushed himself up, knocking his head on Martin’s chin as he kissed his Adam’s apple.

“Ow,” Martin protested. “By all means, Jon, continue to headbutt me in the face—”

“It was your chin!”

“— And we’ll just ‘do sex’ eventually.” He even did air quotes, the bastard. 

Jon would usually snap back with something, but Martin was holding himself up with the one arm, and. Well. He had other things to think about.

Martin’s hand trailed along Jon’s chest, fingers running through the coarse hairs that ran downwards from the base of his throat. When they kissed again, it was slower, more considering. Jon felt himself opening up, as if Martin was cracking away an outer shell with every swipe of his tongue. Martin nipped at Jon’s lip, then sucked it into his mouth, and that pulled a moan from Jon. Encouraged, Martin’s hand drifted to the almost imperceptible swell of Jon’s chest, capturing a nipple between his fingers. Jon panted into Martin’s mouth, reduced to the places where his skin touched Martin.

“May I suggest,” Martin murmured, rolling the peak of skin between his fingers as he spoke, his lips brushing Jon’s with each word. “That since you were giving my arse so much attention earlier—”

“Yes.” Jon interrupted, not needing Martin to finish the thought. He bucked his hips, though he wasn’t sure if he was trying to unseat Martin or grind up in search of friction. “Up, up,” he instructed, voice rough. “On your knees.”

Martin shifted so that Jon could slide himself off the bed and kneel on the floor. With a few moments of uncoordinated wriggling, they succeeded in divesting Martin of the ratty track pants he called exercise gear, baring his arse to Jon’s hungry gaze. He was most of the way to full hardness, and he swore when Jon wrapped a hand around his cock. His hand still stroking Martin’s length, Jon sank his teeth into the top of Martin’s thigh, eliciting a high whine from the other man. Jon made a trail of small bites and apologetic kisses as he felt Martin’s legs begin to tremble under his ministrations. Finally, Jon released Martin’s cock and spread his cheeks. Jon wasted no time in licking a hot, messy stripe from Martin’s balls to his hole.

“Fuck, Jon,” Martin rasped, hips fucking forward into empty air. Jon smiled as he circled Martin’s hole with the flat of his tongue. “You’re — oh God, fuck! — having too much — hah, aah — too much fun with this.” He shoved his face into the covers, as if in emphasis.

Jon hummed, pleased, which made Martin cry out again. He pressed messy kisses to Martin’s hole before flicking his tongue inside. Martin was still thrusting ineffectually into nothingness, and Jon wrapped him in a loose fist. At the occasional twist, Martin let out strings of curses and Jon’s name, coming out more like a collection of familiar sounds than actual conscious speech. Never one to do things by halves, Jon rubbed the rim of Martin’s hole with his free hand as his tongue fucked in, drawing positively sinful moans from Martin. He was always so responsive to Jon’s touch, so sensitive and easy to unravel. Jon loved it. He loved everything about Martin.

“Jon, I need,” Martin pleaded. He yelped as Jon responded by dragging his nails down Martin’s left cheek. “If you keep going I’m going to come.”

Jon didn’t stop entirely, but slowed down, considering. While he was enjoying how senseless he could make Martin with just is tongue, he generally preferred to see Martin’s face when he came. With a mischievous twist of the hand wrapped around Martin’s cock, he released his boyfriend and crawled up beside Martin. Martin gravitated towards him, wrapping an arm around Jon’s middle as he began to nibble along his jaw. Jon let out a contented sigh and bent his neck to give Martin more room to explore. Not content to be the centre of attention, however, he twisted his hips so he could press a thigh between Martin’s legs. Obligingly, Martin ground up into the pressure, little moans escaping into Jon’s skin.

“Let me eat you out?” Martin panted.

In lieu of an answer, Jon kissed his temple and pushed down on his head, making space for Martin between his legs. With endearing awkwardness, Martin scrambled down the bed. Jon always felt exposed like this, vulnerable without Martin’s soothing weight on him. It wasn’t that he was worried about Martin’s reaction, knew down to his bones that Martin loved everything about Jon that was worth loving — even if Jon didn’t agree on said worth. No, it was the sudden rush of air against his skin when Martin left him. A manifestation of The Lonely, he supposed; a reminder of his helplessness when he was separated from Martin. Or perhaps it was The Vast; acutely feeling his fragile insignificance without Martin to block it out. An itch formed on the roof of his mouth, as if he was just about to sneeze. He could Know which it was, who he was feeding, if he wished.

He didn’t. And so he squeezed his eyes shut against the feeling, focusing instead on the sensation of Martin mouthing his way up his inner thigh. A quick scrape of teeth made heat pulse in Jon’s cunt, and he pulled in a quiet gasp. Opening one eye, he caught Martin’s gaze, a smile dancing in his eyes even though his mouth was hidden between Jon’s legs. Martin placed a hand on Jon’s stomach, and Jon reached down to intertwine their fingers. He breathed a little easier.

Martin nosed his way between Jon’s outer lips, brushing aside the dark, wiry curls there. He took a deep breath, the exhale teasingly cold on Jon’s sensitive skin. Martin licked a slow, wide oval around Jon’s cunt, moaning appreciatively, as if he was lapping up spoonfuls of fine caviar. 

“Christ, Martin, you always sound—” Jon began, but interrupted himself with a shout as Martin circled his clit with his tongue.

Martin laughed, breath close and hot, and began to bite lightly at Jon’s outer lips. Unbidden, Jon’s hand buried itself into Martin’s hair, twisting the curls between his fingers. With practiced precision, Martin systematically worked his way through the places that made Jon’s thighs tense. With a pointed tongue, he rubbed up and down Jon’s folds, the velvety skin giving way to the pressure of his tongue. He teased the hood of Jon’s clit, not quite touching the sensitive shaft, but coming close enough that Jon felt sparks in hit gut. Messy, open mouthed kisses were pressed to every bit of skin Martin could find. When he reached Jon’s hole, just shy of actually pressing in, Jon felt his cunt clench with desire. He cold feel how wet he was, the mixture of his own fluid and Martin’s spit slicking his thighs. Martin’s other hand, the one not holding Jon’s own, held Jon’s hips back from bucking up into the touch. Martin was still for a few moments, and Jon felt as if his heartbeat were about to shake the bedroom walls. When Martin’s tongue finally dipped into Jon’s cunt, Jon started to babble.

“Al- always so good at this. _Too_ good at this.” he panted as Martin’s tongue slid into him lazily. “You take me apart every— every time, Martin. So good to me.”

Jon knew how his voice sounded, wanton and breathy, and was pleased when he heard Martin moan. He could tell from the shifting of the mattress that Martin was grinding against the sheets. Martin continued to fuck Jon on his tongue, his nose now brushing the exposed head of Jon’s clit. Trying to coax Martin into a more consistent kind of stimulation, After a few inexpert slaps to the head, Jon flapped his hands emphatically. Martin drew his tongue out of Jon’s hole and began to draw a meandering line to Jon’s clit. Much to Jon’s chagrin, he seemed happy to take his time, pausing to suck Jon’s folds between his lips, or rub circles into the vee of Jon’s hips with his thumbs. Frustrated, Jon released Martin’s hand to clutch at the headboard.

“Bastard!” Jon shouted when Martin’s lips finally, _finally_ closed around his clit. “You better — hah — stay there, Martin Blackwood. If you know what’s good for you.”

Jon’s command was rewarded with Martin pressing the flat of his tongue along his shaft, Martin’s needy cry vibrating through the point of contact. His hand tightening on Jon’s hip, Martin began to suck in earnest, his head bobbing slightly. It felt like a physical effort to keep his eyes open, but Jon kept his eyes fixed on Martin; the way his face was flushed in equal parts arousal and concentration, the curls at his forehead growing darker with sweat, the greedy movement of his head when he met Jon’s thrusts, as if he wanted to swallow Jon whole. Jon might be able to come from that sight alone.

“Love this, Martin,” he encouraged. He was no longer conscious of the words leaving his mouth, just needed Martin to know, to understand him. “Love you, love that — Ah, Martin! — that you take su- such good care of me. My, my—”

Jon’s breath couldn’t keep up with his words, coming too fast and heavy to form the necessary syllables. He bit down onto his lip, tugging at the chapped skin there. Martin’s tongue joined alongside the unrelenting suction, dragging Jon’s hood along the shaft of his clit. The wave built somewhere just below Jon’s navel, pulling all his awareness to his core. Martin’s hand flattened on Jon’s stomach, pressing down just above his pubic bone, and Jon felt it all break. His thighs squeezed around Martin’s head, riding his tongue at his body spasmed with the orgasm. He felt like Martin was pulling fresh surges of pleasure from his body, working Jon’s clit until he was spent and exhausted. Jon kicked at Martin’s shoulders, pushing him away from his oversensitive clit.

When Jon could breathe without his chest aching, he opened his eyes to see Martin, chin shining and eyes bright. He dove down to kiss Jon, who made what he considered the requisite noises of objection, before relenting and allowing Martin to deepen the kiss. The taste of himself on Martin’s mouth was something he didn’t think he would ever acclimate to, but nevertheless he appreciated the frantic edge it lended to Martin’s kisses. Head still fuzzy with endorphins, Jon couldn’t hold back a whine when he felt the hot line of Martin’s cock rub against his hip.

“Want help with this?” Jon asked, palm pressing against the length of him.

Martin pushed into the touch, eyelids fluttering as Jon started to rub lazily. “Mmm,” he agreed. “Please.”

As Jon’s limbs came back to him one by one, he shifted so he could stroke Martin with more purpose.

“You’re amazing Jon,” Martin praised, almost reverent. “So sweet for me.”

Jon nuzzled under Martin’s neck, feeling the rasp of stubble against his mouth. The air was thick and sweet. It wrapped around them both, a heady, rapturous stillness. 

“Says you.” he countered, voice a low hum.

Jon rubbed his thumb over the slit of Martin’s cock, spreading precome over the flushed head. Martin’s responding shudder was gratifying, and he grinned into the space beneath Martin’s chin.

“I could fuck you,” Martin breathed. “If— If you wanted, that is.”

As if Jon could ever want anything else. He hummed his agreement, feeling fresh heat at the thought of it. He was still so sensitive from his orgasm, but he could never get enough of Martin, would drown himself in the other man if he could.

Like a well-choreographed dance, they shifted to their new position, only knocking elbows once. Jon pushed a pillow under his hips, smiling beatifically up at Martin. He caught Martin’s chin between two fingers, before Martin could shrink away from the attention.

“Look at you,” he purred, enwrapped. “My wonderful man.”

The following kiss was a transparent move to shut Jon up, but he didn’t object. There would be other times to look at Martin. Their whole lives, if Jon had his way. 

“Do you need—?” Martin started to ask, hand stroking Jon’s side.

Jon shook his head. “I’m ready.” he said, and pulled Martin back into the kiss.

Martin sucked Jon’s tongue into his mouth as the head of his cock nudged against Jon’s entrance. Impatient, Jon hooked his legs around Martin’s own, pulling him closer. On his next inhale, Martin pressed forward, sliding in with almost no resistance. When the head of his cock brushed against that spot, Jon clenched around Martin’s cock, his hips jerking.

“Fuck, Jon! Give me a moment, would you?” Martin pushed himself up so Jon could see the teasing quirk of his lips. He was laughing, but they were croaky, reedy little things. 

“Sorry,” Jon smiled back sheepishly. “Just… still sensitive.”

And it was. Almost too much so. Martin’s cock was not particularly thick, but there was a truely wicked curve to it. The pressure was overwhelming, Martin lighting up each of his nerve endings like a switchboard. Jon felt like he was going to implode and fly apart simultaneously.

“Good?” Martin asked once the crease between Jon’s brows had smoothed somewhat.

Jon tensed just the slightest bit, mostly to see how he felt, but somewhat for the way Martin bit his lip in response, too. 

“Perfect.” he replied.

Martin took this as his cue to seat himself entirely, his expression entirely unguarded as he sank into the wet heat. He always smiled when they were together like this, Jon had noticed. The smile was naked, intimate. It had felt too private for even Jon to witness, the first few times. But this was another of many secrets that Martin shared readily, almost without thinking. Jon loved him so much that he could feel it physically, a twin heat in the spaces between his ribs.

Martin fucked into Jon slowly at first, a leisurely retreat almost to the very tip. On each forward thrust, Jon felt the edges of another orgasm sharpen. Like a call and response, Jon’s wrung-out mewls were answered with Martin’s bitten-off moans. Jon momentarily thought to be embarrassed about how wet he was, how easily Martin moved inside him. Instead, he pushed up into Martin’s thrusts, greedily chasing that fullness.

Never one for selfishness, Martin began to circle his thumb around Jon’s clit, and the answering jerk of Jon’s hips was almost enough to throw Martin off of him. Martin giggled, his rhythm lost as he shook with elation.

“Love you.” he managed, low on breath from the laughter and the exertion.

“Love you too.” Jon’s expression was indulgent, but the press of his hand on Martin’s arse issued as silent _get on with it, would you?_

When Martin gathered himself, his rhythm was faster, and the slight change in angle meant he was driving right into the spot that made Jon shout. So close on the heels of his last orgasm, he felt another building quickly. Martin must have seen the need in Jon’s eyes, because his thumb sped up, pressing down slightly. Jon felt heat rise up his spine from his cunt, expanding outwards so that he couldn’t tell exactly when the orgasm began. The air punched from his lungs, he could barely make a noise as he came. He squeezed around Martin’s cock as the shocks passed over him, but Martin did not falter in his rhythm until Jon relaxed, the aftershocks subsiding.

The following kiss was messy, both of them too far gone to care about their teeth clacking together or the inexpert slide of their tongues against one another. Martin finally started to seem affected by the tightness of Jon around him, his thrusts becoming shorter and jerkier. He closed his eyes, chasing his own orgasm. Jon’s heart was full to bursting with love watching Martin’s face twist in pleasure. He expected it to come out plaintive, needy, maybe bordering on wrecked, but his usual self-control was long gone. When he whispered “Please, Martin, I want to see you come,” he felt the compulsion leech into his voice, and ended up with a throaty “I want to See you come.”

With a bitten off cry of “Jon!”, Martin’s orgasm hit like a punch in the gut. His eyes shot open, and his hips moved without his conscious thought. Heat grew from his core, exploding out like fireworks and stealing his breath, and Jon felt it too. It was not quite that he could feel what Martin was feeling, but as if their bodies had merged together, becoming something greater than them both. He felt the pulse of body parts he did not possess alongside the toe-curling filling of his cunt, the tightening of stronger arms intertwined with the blissful weight of Martin’s body atop his own. Jon was used to orgasms like waves, slowly filling him with warm tension until his body was full of it. Martin’s climax was like an explosion, an abrupt drop into that sharp ecstasy. It was glorious. He wondered if he was ever going to remember how to breathe again.

His vision was going white around the edges, and his ears were full of the sound of rushing blood and his own ragged breathing, but Jon fixed his gaze on Martin’s face as best he could. His eyes were shut tight, a scarlet flush reaching the roots of his curly hair. His body arched up towards the ceiling, still for what could have either been a single heartbeat or several lifetimes, and finally Martin let out a lungful of air. The warm breath enveloped Jon, and Martin relaxed on top of him, rolling to the side a bit so as not to crush his bad leg.

Jon snapped back into his own body as he realised what he had done. His lips buzzed with the feeling of a compulsion satiated. 

“Oh God,” he breathed, eyes wide and fixed on the ceiling in horror. “Martin, I’m so- I, I didn’t-” He scrabbled around, as if his bony fingers were trying to press his apology into Martin’s skin.

With an exhausted moan, Martin slipped out and rolled to his side. “Pardon?”

If Jon wasn’t entirely occupied with his guilt, he would have huffed a laugh at the formality, out of place when Martin’s dick rested on his naked thigh, sweaty skin growing sticky in the cool air.

“Sorry for… you know,” A steadying breath, picturing the air tamping down the sick feeling in his gut. “For making you come. Like, like that.” Martin still looked puzzled, but Jon couldn’t tell if it was the teasing kind, where he just wants Jon to form the sentence properly, or if it was that Martin genuinely didn’t understand what Jon was trying to say. “I didn’t mean to… to Ask.”

“Oh,” Martin said, as if that was a full sentence. 

It seemed as if he was just below total consciousness, and he had to concentrate to make his mouth form the necessary syllables. He looked drunk on it, mouth slack and lips spit slick. Jon cursed the flash of heat he felt at Martin’s half-lidded expression. 

He rubbed at Jon’s hip clumsily. “It’s okay, Jon.”

Martin’s words sounded hollow, a throwaway platitude that he would say more out of habit than actual forgiveness. It was the same tone he would use if Jon apologised for “borrowing” one of Martin’s good pens, or for letting his tea go cold without drinking it. 

Jon clenched his jaw, so tight that his muscles instantly protested. “No, Martin, it’s not okay. I shouldn’t have done that.”

Martin, with what could only be described as a preternatural sense for when Jon was upset, pressed his face into the space between Jon’s neck and shoulder. A snuffling breath skittered across Jon’s still-warm skin. Jon felt undeserving of such tenderness in that moment, but nevertheless the tension dissipated.

“Jon,” Martin murmured, his voice more awake now. “Hey, Jon, look at me.”

Jon stubbornly kept his eyes on the ceiling, not wanting to acknowledge the mix of understanding and affection that would be on Martin’s face when he looked. But he didn’t resist when Martin hooked a finger under his chin and gently tugged his head to the side.

Like a magnet, Jon’s hand came up to cup Martin’s cheek. It was easier to speak when he could see Martin. “I’m sorry. I hate when I do that to you.”

Martin brushed a gentle kiss onto Jon’s lips, and pressed their foreheads together. They curled together like mirrored brackets, as if they were still touching in the spaces where their bodies were physically apart. 

“Did you mean to?” Martin asked, voice strong even though he was speaking barely above a whisper.

Jon shook his head, long hair brushing against Martin’s face.

“I knew you didn’t.” Martin said, with more certainty than Jon thought was warranted. “You never do.”

Jon started to protest at that, because he had a choice, he had a choice every time.

“With me,” he clarified, just enough sternness in his tone to stop Jon from arguing. “You never mean to with me.”

Jon shifted closer to Martin, cold now that the heat of arousal had left him. He made himself meet Martin’s gaze. “You don’t know that.”

“No,” Martin acquiesced. “I don’t know for sure. But you haven’t yet, and that has to count for something.”

The following kiss was supposed to be chaste, Jon was sure, but once their lips were moving together, Jon was deepening it, his hand moving to clutch at the back of Martin’s neck. If Martin wasn’t going to let him alleviate his guilt with words, he was going to have let it out into this kiss. It was just on the edge of too rough, and Jon’s lips were already bruised. It was good, too good, and Jon had to drag himself away.

“Martin—” he began, hoping he sounded serious instead of wrecked.

“No.” Martin cut him off. His breathing was still coming fast and heavy. “No, it’s okay Jon. I.” He pulled away a bit, eyes searching around the dark room in the way they did when he was embarrassed. “I, um. Liked it?” he admitted sheepishly. “Yeah. I liked it. When you Asked.”

Jon felt the ever-present furrow in his brows deepen. “What?”

“Obviously not every time!” Martin rushed to amend. “Because it was… a lot to take in. But I just want you to know that I… Well. I didn’t hate how it felt.”

Almost reflexively, Jon resorted to sarcasm to cover his whirl of emotions. “Well, thank you, Martin. I’m glad that you “didn’t hate” having sex with me.”

Luckily, Martin knew Jon well by now, and was able to deal with his pricklier moods. “Jon, you know that’s not what I meant.” he chastised, tone firm. “I always like having sex with you.”

Jon did not feel a swell of pride at that. Most definitely not, but it was enough to soothe his concern enough. He relaxed under the gentle brush of Martin’s hands. “I just worry. That I’m too…” Jon waved his arms around, trying to find the right words. “Weird for you.”

“Oh, Jon,” Martin whispered, infinitely fond. “You’ve always been… so weird.”

“Supernatural monster powers notwithstanding.” Jon interjected, the joke not quite landing on the fun side of self-deprecating.

Martin kissed him, the gesture familiar and easy. “Yes, true. But my point was, Mr. Simms, that I like that. I like that you’re weird, and I always have. I don’t think you could get too weird for me. Not anymore.”

Jon buried his face in Martin’s chest. “Even if I grew, uh, antlers?” 

Martin started to laugh, and Jon felt it against his cheek.

“Really big ones. Very pointy.” He continued. “Or if I started… I don’t know, competitive crochet?”

Martin’s laugh was open and joyful, and the sound of it unrooted the last of Jon’s persistent doubt. He buried his hands deep into Jon’s long, unruly hair and pulled him in for a kiss. Jon thought, not for the first time, that there were some things he was glad tape recorders couldn’t capture. This kiss, along with the countless others he had catalogued away, was his alone.

They didn’t break the kiss so much as it ebbed away, and Martin peppered a few small ones along the pockmark scars on Jon’s cheeks. “I love you, Jon.” he promised. “Even if you do grow antlers and can’t fit through the door anymore.”

Jon tucked himself into Martin’s embrace, nosing into the warm space under his chin. “Love you too.” He said, and kissed Martin where he knew he was ticklish.

Martin let out a shriek of amusement, squeezing Jon in the process. Jon pressed kisses and scrapes of teeth against Martin’s neck, until Martin successfully pushed his assailant off his chest. Jon grinned down at him, eyes sparkling.

“Enough, you silly man.” A kiss to Jon’s forehead. “You need to pee.”

Jon collapsed on top of Martin, groaning theatrically. “’M the Archivist,” he mumbled. “Archivists don’t get UTIs.”

Martin huffed, and gave Jon a playful shove. “You don’t know that. Come on, get up.”

Jon grumbled a little in protest, but complied and began to extricate himself from the tangle of sheets and Martin’s embrace. Upon standing, he realised just how sticky his thighs were, grimacing at the sensation.

“In need of a shower too, I think.” He lifted his leg in emphasis, exhibiting the various drying fluids to Martin.

“Ooh,” Martin exclaimed, evidently enticed by the prospect of an opportunity to make Jon wash his hair, rather than by the mess on Jon’s skin. “I’ll join you.”

**Author's Note:**

> follow me on [tumblr](https://www.sansculotted.tumblr.com) if you want to encourage me to write more :) thanks for reading


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